


Tipsy

by PhantomWriter



Series: It's a weird start (but we'll be fine) [12]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Drunk Barry, M/M, suggestive talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 17:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12151497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: Maybe it's for the best that Barry cannot get drunk.





	Tipsy

**Author's Note:**

> made something short before I go.

Oliver didn’t know when it went downhill.

Perhaps it was when Barry produced a small vial of clear liquid which he said made by Caitlin for him. It’s for disabling his fast metabolism for a few hours, allowing him to be able to feel the effect of the alcohol for at least the whole evening.

Barry drank the whole content, wincing at the sourness of the mixture, and then washing it down with vodka.

Oliver watched him for full five minutes, sipping his own drink, as Barry downed his shots consecutively. The speedster sighed disappointingly after not feeling anything at all.

“I guess it doesn’t work too,” Barry said, staring forlornly at the small bottle.

“She tried,” Oliver offered as consolation. “Besides, nobody likes hangover.”

They merely talk for about an hour, with Oliver slowing down his drinking. He’s not planning to get wasted, but it seemed that Barry intended to.

If only the concoction worked.

Though Oliver noticed that something was wrong with Barry when the latter was perspiring profusely when it wasn’t even that warm. Barry’s hand would go to his forehead or the bridge of his nose as if abating headache and then flinch on occasion.

“Are you alright?” Oliver asked.

“I’m fine,” Barry looked at him, smiling lazily. “Just tired, sexy.”

“If you say so.” The older man frowned slightly. “What did you just call me?”

And then he received a smirk that looked uncharacteristic of Barry. “Just the obvious.” Green eyes raked over Oliver, not bothering to be subtle. “I’ll hit the restrooms. Be right back.” On his way, he turned to him, adding, “And, oh, no need to knock.” Barry winked.

Oliver sat there, digesting what just happened.

_What the…_

Barry hit on him.

Barry hit on him and implied that he would be waiting for Oliver at a bathroom stall.

Were those words supposed to be in the same sentence?

His eyes landed on the phial, suspecting that there must be some kind of side effect from that nondescript liquid.

Fingers flitted on his shoulders and waist. There was a hot breath on his ear that smelled of alcohol and mint and ozone that he found rather intoxicating—not!

“Sorry, can’t wait any longer,” Barry whispered, embracing him from behind.

“Look, Barry, you’re—what happened to you?”

It sounded worse that it actually was. He was simply taken aback at the first three popped buttons of Barry’s powder blue shirt, showing his collarbones and expanse of white freckled skin. His hair appeared to have been ruffled to be styled slick, with water or gel or whatever that was.

What Oliver refused to acknowledge was that Barry looks actually good.

“Like what you see?” Barry smirked that smirk again, leaning between Oliver’s parted legs. “There’s more underneath, handsome.” His hands crept on the other’s thighs, giving them light squeeze before retracting his hands. “Dance?” He gestured at the dance floor where throngs of bodies are colliding and rubbing against each other.

“Pass,” Oliver managed to answer, voice raspy.

He would try to forget that Barry felt him up.

Thankfully, he didn’t insist, shrugging and muttering _suit yourself_.

 

 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t end there yet.

Oliver regretted that they went to a club instead of a regular bar. Though in his defense the drinks in the place are the best. Still, at least he wouldn’t have seen Barry in the middle of the crowd, with women grinding in front of him and a man on his back. There were more dry humping than actual dancing and nope, he wasn’t staring at Barry’s hips and he wasn’t not scowling either at the guy behind him.

 _And, no, I'm not jealous_.

Oliver gritted his teeth as he watched Barry got turned around by the man. Now chest to chest, Barry nuzzled the man’s neck as the man whispered something to him that had Barry giggling. A hand went to the speedster’s hip, which also went to his ass and gave a pat. Oliver’s vision went red at the corners at the sight.

As if he would let his friend get molested. Not on his watch.

He strode to Barry and pulled him away from the stranger who gaped like a fish seeing Oliver, intimidated by his tight white shirt glory and holding his leather jacket while his other hand is holding Barry’s arm like a protective boyfriend—ahem, _friend_.

 

 

On the way out, Barry had the audacity to whine, and mutter gibberish which faintly sounded like French or whatever foreign language it was.

“You’re drunk,” Oliver said in his vigilante non-modulated voice, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s a good thing you have fast metabolism, because this will only happen today. I’ll go talk to Caitlin myself to stop giving you that mix.”

Barry stared at him, studying Oliver intently and promptly shutting up as they took a cab and went straight to his apartment.

It wasn’t until they reached the entrance when his face broke into a mischievous grin in a sudden realization.

“You were jealous.”

Oliver opened the door himself and helped him in. “What?”

“You’re jealous of that dude.” Barry’s lips quirked playfully. “Would you rather you were in his place instead?”

Oliver cleared his throat, thinking it went close to home. “Of course not.”

“You know, we can skip the foreplay and go straight to the main event.”

_Jesus Christ._

“No, you’ll sleep,” he ordered firmly as possible. “I’ll dump you to bed if I have to.”

“I like the sound of that.” Barry snickered when Oliver groaned in exasperation.

Miraculously, he did get to tuck him in bed without attempted funny business.

“Won’t you sleep with me?”

“No.”

Barry pouted under the sheets.

“But I’ll be crashing at your couch.”

“Killjoy.”

“Just… sleep. It'll pass come morning.”

“What will pass?” The younger man asked, staring at the ceiling.

 _This whole 180 degrees personality shift._ “You. Whatever that change in attitude is when you get drunk.” He was close to adding _seducing me_ but held himself back.

Barry smirked without looking at the former’s direction. “Me seducing you is real though.”

Oliver realized he must have said that aloud. He sighed in resignation.

“I like you. I just don’t have the courage to say that sober.”

He paused mid-turn of the door knob.

“I like you, Oliver Queen,” Barry repeated sincerely, a small smile on his lips. “Like _a lot_.”

When Oliver finally turned to look at him though, he was already passed out snoring ever so softly.

His eyes fell on the sleeping figure, million thoughts running on his mind at the moment.

He and Barry have plenty to talk about tomorrow.

* * *

  **THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> drunk Barry is basically Sebastian.


End file.
